


Condemnation For My Sins

by k2_b0



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, Gen, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Shirogane is a bitch lets be real, also shirogane uses some heavy shit against ouma so maybe watch out, because i wanted to write some shirogane & ouma shiz, even though that’s not the main focus and my summary might be misleading and f, from december posting now, i never played v3: the evidence, if you’d like me to add any warnings please tell me & ill do so, traitor au haha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-09-30 21:12:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17231288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/k2_b0/pseuds/k2_b0
Summary: Ouma sticks his nose too far into the killing game, and pays for it in his sense of loyalty. Shirogane enjoys it a little too deeply.





	Condemnation For My Sins

**Author's Note:**

> CW: descriptions of underage prostitution, a bit of sexual harassment on shirogane’s part, and the good ol’ despair routine.

The world was crashing apart around him. Every side was shattered, scenery blurry and noises muted aside from the noises coming from the headphones on his ears.   
  
_ His _ noises. Those were his noises.   
  
Shirogane held a hand to his shoulder and grinned wickedly at his despair. The tiny screen right before Ouma’s eyes played the same thing over and over, repeating those squeaks and cries that had poured from his mouth during those times. His pixelated body, aged twelve-and-a-half, pushed itself back and forth against someone else’s unspeakables, spewing words that had been taught to it by people more experienced in the craft. Every expression splayed on that face, every skillful roll or twist, every hushed moan... those were his.    
  
The world kept on blurring, now with an added spin to it. Ouma clapped a hand to his mouth, squeezing it backwards to keep puke from coming up his throat. “How—“ he started, but gagged hard before the sentence could finish itself.   
  
Shirogane trailed her hand down his back knowingly, relishing in the shivers that the movements caused. When she spoke, she pushed aside the headphones and whispered straight into his ear. “How do I have this?” She asked, saying exactly what he couldn’t. “Oh,  _ Kokichi _ . You know exactly how I have it.”   
  
The way her voice lilted on his first name made the urge to throw up even stronger, although it was rounded off by a sudden need for physical violence just after. Of course he knew how she had it. It was an expensive tape, certainly, but if you knew the right people and could name the right price, you could get your hands on it in no time. And Shirogane had connections, if that wasn’t obvious enough. The mastermind of a killing game would have to have connections if they wanted the setup to work.   
  
He never should have found out. About her, that is. He never should have stuck his nose into the depths of the killing game, throwing away his life for the sakes of strangers. Then again, he never should have underestimated a murderer, much less a mass one.   
  
Shirogane spun away from him on her heels, smiling as she pulled the plug on the computer playing his past. Every part of him was screaming to run away, but at the same time he understood that, if he did, it would be over there. Monokuma would release a brand new motive called “Who Can Laugh At Ouma Kokichi’s Weakness The Hardest?”. Or maybe it would be titled “Can You Guess Who The Most Pathetic Amongst You Is? Answer: Ouma Kokichi!”   
  
The thought almost made him want to laugh. He might’ve, if the overwhelming feelings of terror and hatred weren’t consuming him bit by bit.   
  
“Say, Ouma-kun,” Shirogane started, blinking her eyes at him, “do you want to make a deal?”   
  
Ouma swallowed hard and peeled the hand away from his face. The chance of him vomiting all over the cheap Monokuma-themed computer was still high, but then again— hadn’t he already been stripped of his dignity? What’s left to protect?    
  
( _ DICE, the others, yourself. All reasonable thoughts, but all debatable. What’s the point of protecting people who don’t care about you?) _ __  
__  
_ ((The point is that they all deserve to live, somehow. Even the damned deserve a semblance of a chance _ .))   
  
Shirogane gave him a look, and he felt his nails cut into his palms. When had he even clenched his fists? It didn’t matter. “I’d rather eat shit, if I’m being honest,” he said, and smiled mirthlessly at her. “But I’m open to suggestions, I suppose.”   
  
“Oh, I know you are,” the mastermind replied, tossing her hair back. Her eyes had a certain sharpness behind those glasses that he had looked over beforehand. Hiding in plain sight, indeed. She stood behind the computer’s desk and held out an open hand to him. He hesitated at it, and she rolled her eyes. “Let me finish before you freak, stupid. My suggestion is, well, I’m sure you can guess. After all, it’s trope-y as hell. But... you can’t really have a series without tropes, huh?”   
  
Ouma felt sweat well up on his hairline, a tic finding its way into his jaw. He could hear the strain in his voice when he addressed her. “Stop blathering on,  _ Mastermind-chan _ . What’s your deal?”   
  
She paused, and her eyes shone. Oh, she liked that, then. “Ah,” she sighed dreamily, “just like I wrote you! Layered characters are so sexy!” Ouma flinched when her hands flew up to hold together, mouth opening and cheeks flushing. Just as fast as she had made the motions, she dropped her stance back down into an open one, and put her hands on her hips.   
  
“Well,  _ Hero-kun _ ,” Shirogane said, ignoring her own outburst, “my deal is simple! Easy-peasy, even. All you have to do... is become my spy!”   
  
_ Easy-peasy my ass! _ Ouma felt his jaw drop before he could catch himself, and he stared her down. Scanning over her once, then twice, there were none of her usual signs to say she was lying. Maybe those had been faked too, though. Who’s to say? He crossed his arms and tapped his foot with false impatience.   
  
“What the fuck are you saying?” He asked, sounding almost exactly like Momota. “Me? Become your spy? Don’t make me laugh! What the hell do you think you’ve got above my head to say that? My  _ sex tape _ ?  _ You think I’ll kill them over my _  sex tape?”   
  
Shirogane snorted. “Over that little thing? No, obviously not. But you’ll do what I say if I threaten a mass execution, right?”   
  
The room went completely silent. His foot stopped tapping, and his eyes ran across Shirogane’s smug form, once again checking for lies. Ouma swallowed the dry feeling in his throat. “...What?” He croaked, mask dropped entirely out of shock. Wouldn’t the mastermind want to put on a good show? Why the hell would she even suggest that sort of thing?   
  
( _ To get under your skin, his rational mind told him. Don’t let her. You need to win. _ __  
__  
_ But you can’t win something you’ve already lost. _ )   
  
His reaction looked to be exactly what the blue haired girl wanted. “There’s that breaking point of yours!” She cooed. Her hand laid itself down on his cheek and rubbed calming circles into the pale skin of it. “You heard me. If I threaten to kill your precious little classmates, then you’ve got to listen to me. Right?”   
  
“Wrong,” he spat back, trying to tug off her grip. But that film had left him more shaken than he’d like to admit, and his fingers fumbled uselessly against her forearm. Ouma’s lip trembled in that obnoxious way it did, and he stepped back only to hit a desk. Trapped, then.   
  
“No,” Shirogane told him, and pressed her face close. Her breath was warm on his jaw, and her eyelashes fluttered against his skin. Slowly, the hand on Ouma’s face slid down to his neck and rested there. The other arm wrapped around his back like a thorny vine, pulling them closer and closer until he was pinned against the desk by the killing game’s mastermind. Their position was that of two dancers, almost. Although the dip was about to take a deadly turn.   
  
Shirogane squeezed her hand down on his throat and laughed at the choked breath that left him. “You know what the tape was for,” she whispered, and Ouma did. He knew exactly what she meant. Trauma is an easy thing to use when the goal is manipulation. Bring up the fact that he used to... do that, and suddenly, every wall he had built up was cracked or torn down entirely. It was humbling, but at the same time embarrassing and akin to getting every organ torn out one by one.   
  
The grip on his waist trailed lower, and a hand squeezed down on his rear. It made his stomach twist, but Ouma bit down his words. Shirogane snickered at him. “I’m going to kill them,” she hissed playfully, “all of them. And it’ll be your fault. You’ll graduate as the blackened, and everyone will hate you.”   
  
“They already hate me,” Ouma rose his leg up and tried to scoot across the desk, but the arm around him kept him put. “You think I care if they die? I’m saving myself. I’m trying to keep myself safe.”   
  
“Really?” Shirogane said, pushing her hand down Ouma’s scarf and into his shirt. He stilled and his breath caught, making the mastermind’s lips quirk up. “I remember differently,” she continued, letting her hand go further and further down. It sat on the left side of his chest, the cold feeling of it above a thundering heartbeat. “ _ I _ remember you sneaking your way into Motherkuma’s room, which is certainly dangerous! Would you put yourself in danger like that if your only interest was self preservation?”   
  
“I love the thrill,” he replied, and Shirogane finally pulled her hand from his shirt.    
  
She let go of him and stepped away. “...Of course you do.” She mumbled. “Say, how do you think the execution should go? I’m thinking slow and painful. Maybe... a huge firework show! But your classmates are the explosives. You know.  __ Boom, boom! How disgusting!” Her fingers splayed out and clenched back into fists over and over to display what she meant. “It’ll be a human meat bonanza! Fun, right?”

“Not really,” Ouma replied. He glanced down to his own hands, trembling and small in front of him. He could just wrap them around her neck and squeeze until her eyes pop. That would solve everything, wouldn’t it? The killing game would end and they could all just go home. Pay respects to the dead, tell their stories, live. It was so, so simple.

So why couldn’t he convince himself to do it?

Shirogane smiled at him, lips thin and knowing. “It’s okay,” she hummed, “I know how you’re feeling. Apprehensive, right?” Again, she placed a smooth hand to cheek and fake-comfortingly tapped it. “That’s normal. After all, I’m telling you betray your friends. That has to be tough.”

Ouma held eye contact with her, neither of them looking away. Unstoppable force meets immovable object. “You can’t manipulate me, Shirogane-chan,” the short boy said, “I’m the best at that sort of thing, after all.”

“Maybe so,” her hand moved up his face and she placed a finger above his eye. The blunt of her nail hovered just above his retina. “But I can manipulate everyone else. I can ruin you, Ouma-kun. I can make you suffer.”

Ouma grinned at her, wild and feral like a cornered beast. “Try me,” he said.

Shirogane felt herself smiling back with an edge.  _ Try him,  _ she would.

**Author's Note:**

> the first part actually made me a bit physically ill to write, having a weak mind and stomach ;; hope you enjoyed reading, though!
> 
> (also, im watching tiger & bunny on netflix now. And kotetsu reminds me vaguely of momota haha)


End file.
